Innocent Blood
by Airlia de Lioncourt
Summary: this is a crow based fic in which a girl returns from the grave to avenge her death at the hands of her lover
1. Death

1 Disclaimer ~ I don't own the Crow; someone who isn't me does. Thought most of the characters in this story are mine and I would appreciate it if they are not taken without my permission.  
  
  
  
Moonlight gave her sleeping form an angelic glow, making her paler than usual.  
  
She no longer looked like a part of his world.  
  
Which was true of course, he thought, she wasn't.  
  
She murmured something unintelligible, turning away from him. He lent over her and his lips brushed her cheek. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whispered as he pulled away from her.  
  
He walked out of the room and didn't look back.  
  
* * *  
  
Rebecca stirred in her sleep. She turned round, hands seeking the warmth of Nick's body. The other side of the bed was cold and empty. She sat up in bed suddenly wide-awake and stared at his side of the bed, wondering if he was in the bathroom or the lounge, but she knew it wasn't true.  
  
Hesitantly, she called out his name but receiving no answer made the fear curling icy tendrils around her body now take firm root. It spread with each passing second. She knew where he had gone.  
  
She hoped she had enough time to stop him.  
  
  
  
Nick entered the warehouse, his footsteps making a hollow echo through the building. He could hear other voices, raised in argument and he moved towards them. There was a set of offices through the back. They were in better repair than the rest of the building and considerably warmer too. That's where he found them. Ace and Rick were leaning across the table, almost screaming at each other.  
  
"Now children, play nice or it's a time out for both of you," Nick interjected, his smooth voice seemingly filling the room and settling there. "Marco, you wanna telling me what the fuck is going on?" he addressed a taller man standing silently in the shadows.  
  
Marco pushed himself up from the wall, the movement slow and lazy. "There's a girl in the other office, boss."  
  
Nick glared at Rick, "I thought I told you to stop bringing girls here, Rick. This is no place for them to play." Nick's voice never rose but his anger was apparent in each syllable.  
  
"She ain't one of Rick's," Marco interrupted. "She saw us on a job. We brung her here to...take care of the problem."  
  
"So what's the issue? Why haven't you done it already?"  
  
"Well, Rick just wants to put a bullet in her brain, but Ace...has some other ideas."  
  
Nick passed a hand over his eyes, "You mean Ace wants to fuck her ? So what's the problem ? He's never asked permission before."  
  
Marco smiled, "That's true, boss." Ace was grinning like a kid at Christmas.  
  
"Look, both of you take her outside. As long as she ends up dead I really don't give a shit about how you boys get your kicks." Nick sighed. "Just don't get caught."  
  
They both left. Ace practically skipping and Rick muttering under his breath. He stopped when he saw the looks he was getting from Nick.  
  
Turning to Marco he said, "Honestly, those two are so fucking brainless I don't know what I don't just put them out of my misery. Let's talk business."  
  
Marco nodded. "They're releasing Mike tomorrow afternoon."  
  
"How did he swing that one?"  
  
"Off on a legal technicality. His lawyers discovered that the police didn't have a warrant when they searched his house. A fact which they managed to keep from the entire proceeding."  
  
Nick smiled grimly. "Good."  
  
* * *  
  
Rebecca stood in the shadow of the car park. The warehouse looked deserted but she knew it wasn't, somehow she could feel that there were people inside.  
  
"Shit! Nick, you promised me you were done!" she whispered angrily against the wind. She shivered and rubbed her arms vigorously, trying to get warm.  
  
So what now, she wondered. Should she go in, demand he leave? She wasn't even sure how many where in there, but she knew what they were capable of. She should turn around right now, walk away and give him hell in the morning but she stood where she was, frozen in place.  
  
She heard a girl scream close by, the sound tearing through her. The girl's screams got louder and shriller. Rebecca was frozen, unable to act.  
  
"God, no, p...please don't!"  
  
Those words dragged her into action and she moved forward, stumbling a little as she moved towards the sound. At the same moment two men emerged from the side of the warehouse, dragging the still screaming girl between them as she struggled to get free. Her clothes were torn and she had no shoes. Blood poured from her nose and one eye was black and swollen.  
  
The men dropped her and she fell to her knees. She struggled to stand but one of the men pushed her back down again as the taller of the two drew a gun. The woman saw it and began to whimper.  
  
"Please! I won't tell anyone...I swear that I won't! Please just let me go...please..." her words trailed off at the end as wracking sobs jerked through her body.  
  
For Rebecca everything slowed down. It seemed like it took an eternity for the man to pull the trigger. An eternity in which to act. An eternity to know she was as helpless as the other woman. She felt she could see the bullet leave the barrel of the gun, could see the ripples it made in the air as it passed, like she could reach out a hand to catch it and stop what was happening. It seemed like centuries passed before the woman's body hit the ground, before the men noticed that Rebecca was screaming.  
  
"Oh shit!" Rick cried out, "Ace, fucking grab her and get her to shut the fuck up!"  
  
Ace moved to obey the older man's order, ran towards her and Rebecca was dragged sharply back to reality where time moved the way it was supposed to.  
  
She turned and ran.  
  
Fast though she was she could hear the man gaining on her. If I can just make it to the car, her mind screamed.  
  
Just make it to the car!  
  
The weight of his body knocked her to the ground and knocked the wind out of her. Tears sprang to her eyes, blinding her. His weight rolled off her and she curled into a ball, trying desperately to breathe. She was able to utter one word.  
  
"Nick..."  
  
Rick approached and raised his gun. Ace grabbed his arm.  
  
"Fuck off! You already did one tonight, no fucking way are you doing her as well!" Rick screamed.  
  
"It's not that. I think she knows Nick."  
  
"Shit! We better get her inside then. See what he says."  
  
Between them they carried her to the warehouse.  
  
* * *  
  
Nick was aware of the door opening. "Well it's about fucking time!" he called out before becoming aware that they were carrying a struggling body between them. "Shit guys! I told you to kill her! Last time I checked dead bodies did not fucking move!"  
  
"She ain't dead," Ace supplied.  
  
"I can see that!"  
  
"Different girl," Rick continued, "She said your name. We think she knows you." They dropped her unceremoniously on a battered grey couch that sat in one corner of the room. Nick moved closer.  
  
"Rebecca," he whispered.  
  
"You know her, boss?" asked Ace. Rebecca stood shakily. She slapped him hard. Rick punched her and knocked her to the ground. Tasting blood she knew he had split her lip. She raised her eyes to Nick's.  
  
"Boss? That's not the version I got!"  
  
Nick pulled her to her feet and forced her to sit on the couch. "Well, sweetheart, I couldn't exactly tell you the truth."  
  
A knowing smile spread across Ace's lips. "Pretty little bed warmer she is boss. Congratulations."  
  
Rebecca glared at him. "I'm nobody's bed warmer !"  
  
"Careful girl," Marco warned, "Ace has a soft spot for women with a temper, willing or not."  
  
Rebecca's face paled. She pushed some dark hair out of her eyes and turned her attention back to Nick. "What the fuck is going on?" she whispered. "Where's the orphan boy who had no choice? Where's the man that swore to me he was done with this?"  
  
Nick didn't answer her. She pressed her face to her hands. Composing herself for a few moments. She'd be damned if she cried in front of these people. Ace sat beside her on the couch and stroked her hair. She pulled sharply away, slapping his hand in the process. He raised a hand as if he meant to strike her.  
  
"Don't!" Nick's voice cut through the air.  
  
"Did you order that woman's death?"  
  
The question hung in the air until Nick nodded in answer.  
  
"You fucking bastard!" She stood and tried to leave but Nick caught her arm, holding her in place.  
  
"I can't let you leave Becca."  
  
"W-w-what?"  
  
"You saw too much. You should have stayed in bed."  
  
"I don't understand!"  
  
"I know you, hon, as much as you love me, you'll go to the police if I let you walk out that door." He raised his hand and cupped the side of her face, forcing her eyes to meet his. "And as much as I love you, I can't let you fuck this up for me."  
  
His hand fell from her face and she tried to jerk from his grasp but he was stronger than she was and before she could do anything else Marco was holding her from behind. Nick moved closer to her and he crushed his lips against her own, bruising them. She bit him and he pulled back, slapping her once across the face.  
  
The barrel of the gun pressed tight against her stomach.  
  
Fear tightened around her, choking her. He shot the bullet up into her, her eyes widening with shock and pain. It tore through her body, ripping through her lungs and grazing her heart. She felt blood pour into her lungs, a desperate need for air and a warm stickiness swelled up inside her, filling her mouth and gushing over her lips.  
  
She fell forward, tumbling out of life, but he grabbed her on the way, holding her up to look in her eyes as they dulled and fixed on something he could not see.  
  
She was gone. He opened his arms, and she fell away. He looked down at her, regretting her loss but it had been a necessary sacrifice. He had worked too long and hard to let one pretty face screw the whole thing up for him now. Such a pity that she had followed him, that she had to play the hero.  
  
"Take her outside. Bury them together," he said hoarsely, turning away from her body. Ace and Rick moved to follow his orders. Lifting her body between them, they carried her from the office as Nick and Marco sat down to talk.  
  
* * *  
  
Rick laughed. "Well, she's certainly easier to carry when she doesn't struggle,"  
  
They got outside and dumped her body beside the other girl then went back to retrieve a pair of shovels. They were used to digging shallow graves, making the hole just deep enough to enable them to cover the two women. Dragging the bodies across the ground, they pushed them with their feet into the hole. One on top of the other.  
  
Ace grinned. "Kinky, huh ?"  
  
"Shut it !" growled Rick, blowing into his hand. "Its fucking freezing out here. Let's get them covered."  
  
Ace nodded, throwing a shovel of dirt on the women's hair. At least they weren't looking at him. Dead eyes gave him the creeps. He kept shovelling and Rick joined in. It didn't take long to fill the grave. It never did.  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
"So everything's ready for tomorrow?" Nick asked Marco as they entered.  
  
Marco nodded. "The car will pick Mike up at four."  
  
"It's finally all coming together," Nick stated with a satisfied smile. "I thought the whole  
  
thing was screwed when Mike got himself put away."  
  
"The others will arrive tomorrow and the everything can be set in motion." Marco stated.  
  
Nick didn't reply.  
  
"You listening to me ?"  
  
"What ?" He shook his head. "Did you hear something ?"  
  
Marco shrugged. "What are you ? Scared of birds all of a sudden ?"  
  
"No," Nick said, his voice barely a whisper.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Outside it began to rain and a huge black shape settled on top of a broken fence and  
  
waited….. 


	2. Resurection

A/N: Yup, I know I haven't updated this in months! I kind of had writers block with it so I guess I've just been letting it sit. But guess what, since I have exams now, inspiration has miraculously struck and it seems hell bent on not leaving until I write something. Go figure. I hope you all think this was worth the wait, I really do.

TS: thanks so much for reviewing…and thanks for being so loyal.

Trisha: I'm glad you liked and I apologise so much for the wait.

Redaura: As always thanks for being the loyal reader you are (^_^) You always manage to make my week.

Avari: I am glad you liked. I really think every chapter after that first one is just going to pale in comparison but I trust you to give me an honest opinion. (^_~) Enjoy.

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In the dark, a girl stirred. Something flickered in the depths of her mind and she made a grab for it, and missed. She almost screamed in frustration. It was important, she knew it was important. It was all she did know.

She tried to move but something was wrong there too. She felt too heavy. Trapped. Weighted down. She wondered if she was ill. If there was something wrong with her. She wondered why it was so dark. She tried again to sit up, but stopped. The flicker came again, and again she sent her mind on a mental sprint after the shimmering piece of the unknown.

This time she caught it.

And she did scream this time.

Dirt tumbled in to her mouth and she chocked, fighting suffocation. She pushed frantically against the weight on top of her, understanding now what it was. Horror filling her, welling up inside and taking everything else away from her.

There was a dead woman on top of her.

And she was dead too. Wasn't she? She should be. Her back arched and she pushed up, feeling the body shift. She felt the earth tumble and give and with a renewed sense of horror she realised that she had not even been buried deep. She wasn't sure why she found that so horrible but something in her struck out against it. Some hidden feeling of indignity she should never have come to acknowledge.

The body was forced further up, and struggling she followed it. Breaking out into the cold night air. She rolled, inadvertently taking the dead woman with her, and she sat up, straddling the waist of the corpse. Dumb struck she looked down at the girls face and traced her fingers reverently over the features. She would have drawn the girls eyes closed, rigor mortis had long since past after all, making the body once again pliant, but there was nothing left to close.

The contact did something to her. Sent a series of swift images tearing through her mind, like a movie. The girl on her knees, two men, gun, bullet, and death rushing down.

Rebecca pulled her hand away as if she had been burned and she screamed. The sound tearing through the night air, giving lie to the sense of peace that had been there before. She began to sob, hunching over the body.

"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…" she repeated it over and over like a mantra. She rolled away, instinctively avoiding the hole and curled into a ball, continuing to sob. Something fluttered down to where she lay and cawed once, cutting into her grief.

Bewildered, she blinked, looking up at what had disturbed her, amazed to see a crow, perched so close. It cocked its head to one side and cawed again.

"But…" she said hoarsely.

It cawed again, and then it flew off.

Lying on the ground, Rebecca was momentarily disorientated when her view of the world switched. She was no longer one the ground, she was looking down at herself, at the scene all around her. She shook her head and shakily got to her feet.

The bird circled and for the moment she ignored it. Lifting the dirty hem of her blouse she stared at the place where she had been shot. It was healed now. Not perfectly. There was a network of fine scars that looked like a spider web where the bullet had made the hole. She traced it lightly with her fingers, noting that someone would have to be looking pretty close to see it. She let her top fall again, covering the spot, and then let her finger mover almost idly up across her torso, stopping at her breast where her heartbeat wasn't. 

The path the bullet had taken.

It was still inside her.

The bird cawed again, as if reminding her and she looked up at it. She watched it circle and then nodded her head once. She looked at the body of the woman on the ground and thought about putting her back in her resting place. It wasn't much but it was something. Then a smile twitched her lips upwards. A smile that had a bitter edge of cruelty she had never displayed in life.

She would let them find the corpse, and let them find her empty space in the grave. She wanted them to know that death was coming for them.

Rebecca had walked along the streets, not aware she was heading home until she got there. She climbed the stairs to her apartment and stopped. She listened, trying to determine if it was empty. Outside the crow landed on the window sill, causing her to stumble when it showed her that the apartment was indeed empty. She put her hand to her eyes wondering if she was ever going to get used to the sensation of duality. Of seeing through more than one set of eyes.

Her keys were still in the pocket of her jeans and she held them thoughtfully. She went through her other pockets finding her money and her id intact.

"I thought they removed this stuff," she said to no-one in particular, sliding the key into the lock and turning. She entered; still cautious until she had confirmed that there was no doubt the apartment was empty.

She grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on, channel hopping till she found a news station. The remote was tossed on the sofa while she went to the bathroom. Pulling off her dirt and blood stained clothes she turned on the shower and stepped in. The water felt scalding against her cold skin and she sighed. Was there point to showering if she was a corpse? She wondered if she would rot but judging by the healed wound on her stomach she doubted it. Shaking her head she made short work of restoring herself to cleanliness.

Feeling considerably more human she wandered back into the living room, hair dripping, towel tied loosely. Absently she walked to the window and jerked it open; nodding to the bird that still perched there. Then she went to the bedroom. It didn't take her long to find what she wanted. Her black combats, a tight black t-shit that had three slashes across the stomach, meant to look like something with big claws had taken a swipe at the wearer. Her long black hair took the longest to deal with because she had to dry it, but then it always did. She was fully aware she was growing through the motions of normalcy but she couldn't help but feel there was some sort of point to it. Of course she also ruefully acknowledged that she may be just clinging to little human things.

Rebecca shook out her now dry hair that hung in a curtain around her head and half way down her back, slightly wavy. She grabbed a pair of socks, which where, perhaps ironically, pink and pulled them on, covering them with her favourite pair of black boots. Then she rummaged in the bottom drawer of the dresser. She had never been much into the Goth movement but she still had some black lipstick from a Halloween costume and black eyeliner was there somewhere too. When she found them she held them like weapons.

The lipstick was expertly applied and she stared at herself for a few moments after. She had always been pale but either the lipstick or her new status as 'dead' had made that fact even more apparent, more striking. She threw the eyeliner down without using it and stood, moving quickly to the wardrobe. She pulled out her long leather coat and dragged it on. She turned feeling it swish around her ankles and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She felt a lot like she had just donned her armour and was now ready to go into battle.

She strode out of the apartment, not bothering to lock the door or turn off the TV, and marched down the stairs. As soon as she emerged on the street the bird fluttered down to meet her.

"Well then," she said to it. "Show me the way."


	3. Beginings

A/N: Yup a brand spanking new chapter for all you lovely people who are actually reading this. I've only just decided to set this in New Orleans. I didn't know that it would be set there when I started writing this, but hey, what can I say. Feels kinda right that it is. Did you know Poppy Z Brite wrote a crow novel set in New Orleans? I haven't read it…yet. ^^ Well that was a nicely useless piece of info so I'll just say my thanks and then get on with this.

Redaura: So glad you like this ^^ Really. And so glad you review all my fics! You make my day…week…whatever! ^^

MayadaBee: Well when you put it like that….hope you enjoy this^^

Arwen: Thanks for the encouragement. I hope I'm up to standard. 

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Nick lounged in his seat. He had chosen the furthest corner in Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, one of the oldest bars in New Orleans, where he was more than adequately concealed by the darkness within. Few glanced his way but often those who did meet his eyes suddenly found that they would much prefer their eyes rest elsewhere. Not bad in a place so dimly lit it was hard to tell friend from foe, lover from enemy. Nearby in the bar, but round a corner so Nick couldn't see, a man sing some Blues song or other. Nick did not recognise it nor did he have any wish to. The voice was pleasing enough but he was only half listening. He raised his glass, tipping the contents of liquid fire down his throat and lost himself to inconsequential music and his own thoughts.

            He had seldom come here with Rebecca. She had other bars, other places where she was content to spend an evening, even without him. She had liked the singers though and she'd only ever come for the music but never at the weekend unless he pressed her. She had disliked the weekend crush of more than merry holiday makers and had prefered her other, quieter haunts at such times. He on the other hand loved being surrounded by people and the anonymity it and the darkness gave him. Tonight was such a night and he had come here to think.

            Mostly about what to do about the apartment. He rather liked it but it had been Rebecca's from the first and all her things still lingered there. Reminding him of her. Everyday he acted like a concerned boyfriend should, worrying over where she may be, pretending to hope she would come back and those around him had fallen effortlessly under his will. That, however, did not change the fact he was growing tired of the game. It had been two months already, not long enough for a concerned boyfriend who loved his girl to give up. Mentally he shrugged. He could wait out a year. Then he may give her up for dead or just simply gone, and leave the apartment under the guise of grief. Though he did like her apartment he thought with a small smile.

~*~

            Rebecca walked down old and familiar streets, aware of the predatory swing of her hips, the new aggression in her walk. The streets welcomed her back like old friends while the warm night air enveloped her like a lover's touch. A slight breeze caused that air to stir around her and she sighed, taking it as deep into herself as she could. 

            _Home._

            The word drifted through her mind and she smiled bitterly.

            _Grave,_ she contradicted. What was her city now but another resting place? Then her smile hardened as a new thought came to her. It wouldn't be her resting place alone. 

            Her feet were finding old paths, taking well travelled routes through the Quarter and seeing her home again, her city, made her heart ache. She passed a group of boys scarcely older than she who stumbled in her wake and turned, calling invitations she ignored. They didn't touch her. They were not why she was here. Once, a long time ago, she would have cringed and hurried on. Now, she turned and blew them a kiss and bestowed a smile that promised death should they venture too near. This was her play ground now. One of the boys stuttered, and then, by unspoken agreement, they forgot her and hurried on.

            Still smiling she turned away again and continued to walk. In a moment she would reach Jackson Square and she wondered at the time. She hadn't bothered with a watch, it had seemed unnecessary. It was dark but that didn't mean much. She still didn't know how long she had been gone. It wasn't long before the gates that surrounded the Square came into view and she walked around them, moving down the outside of the Square rather than through it. She reached St. Louis Cathedral and, slightly surprised, found the doors still opened to visitors. That meant it was winter now, dark long before five pm when the church closed its doors. That meant she'd been gone two months…maybe three she realised with shock. Still not looking too clearly at her actions she entered the church.

            Visitors, tourists still milled around and even some of the faithful and not so faithful knelt amongst the rows asking or saying or begging or confessing things only their God would know. She looked at them and hoped that He listened. So many earnest faces, so many fragile flames and amongst it all so much indifference. She blinked and shook her head. These people were not her concern, they never had been even in life but she walked further in because there was something that she wanted to do here. 

            She approached one of the smaller, more secluded rows of candles. One of the ones hidden in a corner that mostly went ignored. She fumbled in her pockets, dragging out the first note she found and crammed it into the box, not bothering to look at it. She lifted a taper and touched it to one existing candle flame and let it flare, before breathing life into her chosen candle.

            "Who is it for?" a voice asked at her elbow. She was so startled she almost dropped the still lit taper but she composed herself quickly. She didn't turn to face the speaker but she had already heard the genuine interest and sympathy in his voice.

            "For me," she said, still refusing to turn. Her voice had choked her far more than she wanted to admit.

            "For yourself? Why?" the voice asked.

            "Because I'm the only one who will light one for me," she answered simply. Then she blew out the taper and she left, coat swishing behind her as she strode away, and never once did she look back to glimpse the face of her would-be comforter.


	4. Been here before

MayadaBee: Thanks for the review and I apologise for the wait. I haven't been well.but here it is at last and I hope you enjoy!  
  
Redaura: Thanks, and enjoy!  
  
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Rebecca turned onto St Phillip, not sure why she felt so compelled to go this way, only that she did. It was bad enough that she felt compelled to see an old haunt but the fact that the place she wanted to see was a bar, made her fell even more sad and pathetic. She squared her shoulders though. Funnily enough it was a bar that had meant something to her. She'd made friends there, spent a lot of time with them there and though it was true that it was too early for anyone she knew to be there, not the tour guides, or the regulars or even the bar staff, she still wanted to go to The Morgue.  
  
You're stalling, said a voice in her head.  
  
She had reached the steps now and she pushed the thought impatiently aside, as she shoved aside the plastic flaps. The Morgue never closed; it had no need of a door. She walked in and surveyed the dimly lit bar.  
  
The barman approached her and she asked the barman for a drink even though she didn't have the slightest inclination to actually have one. She wondered if it was a side effect of being dead and her lips twisted into a bitter smile. The Morgue slogan was 'Dead drunk at the Morgue' and here she was, actually dead in the Morgue. It all seemed appropriate in a black twisted sort of way and she wondered if it was just her or if it was the crow that had such an obvious kink in its sense of humour.  
  
She pressed her hand over her eyes, tossing money on the bar for the barman when he approached and set her drink down in front of her.  
  
"Keep the change," she told him and slipped off the bar stool.  
  
"But this is a ten dollar note," he said to her back, sounding incredulous, as if waiting for her to realise the mistake, or admit it was a joke and snatch the money back. Obviously new. An older hand would have said nothing.  
  
"I said keep it," she tossed back over her shoulder as she retreated into the corner near the ladies restroom, perching on one of the stools that stood next to a high table, where she could be half hidden by the fake funeral wreath.  
  
Perched on a balcony outside, she knew the crow was waiting for her to finish. She also knew that it was impatient with her. That it didn't see the point of her desire to see these places again. She touched the drink to her lips but didn't take any into her mouth as she silently asked the bird what was to be done.  
  
Then she knew in a flash that she would start with a lackey. She saw his face, remembered it and smiled a grim little smile to herself. Privately she was relieved that she would start small instead of going straight for the big kill. She wasn't quite sure how she was going to handle that yet. Yes she wanted revenge. It burned and twisted inside of her and she knew it was half the reason she was alive now, if you could call what she was now alive, but perversely the bullet that had stopped her heart apparently hadn't stopped her feelings for Nick. Something in her still jumped when she thought about him.  
  
And something new was wrenched.  
  
The bar was quiet now. It was too early for the tour groups to have arrived for the ghost walk which was when business started to pick up and it was hard to move in the bar without jostling another body for position. No-one was here but her, the barman, and a man at the bar slumped morosely over his drink.  
  
She faked taking another sip and she waited. The crow knew where she was to go and it also knew that it was too soon. She mentally shrugged. The crow was her guide and she trusted it to do just that, even if she didn't fully understand the motivation. What did she know of the crow as a bird? That it was a scavenger. That was about it, so that really didn't explain why a crow was her spirit guide. Why it had brung her back?  
  
She was unintentionally staring at the man hunched over his drink not really registering that he was there, but someone else entered and approached him and that got her attention, though she wasn't sure why. It could have been the way the newcomer carried himself or the way the man stiffened at his approach, but whatever it was she was suddenly interested in them, she suddenly acknowledged them. The newcomer leaned over the other, saying something that Rebecca couldn't hear. Whatever it was enough to upset the other man. His hand struck out and caught the other man on the side of the face. From there it erupted suddenly into a full on fight and Rebecca was sliding off her perch before she was really aware of it, crossing the distance to the fighting men.  
  
"He owns this town," the newcomer spat. "Do you really think you can go on this way?"  
  
"Fuck you," was all the response he got. That and a fist to the side of the jaw.  
  
The newcomer was about to move in for another swipe when Rebecca stepped in, grabbing the newcomer's smallest finger, she twisted viciously. It was enough to bring him to his knees with a grunt.  
  
"Is that anyway to behave?" she asked calmly.  
  
The barman was scurrying out from behind the bar.  
  
Now he interferes, Rebecca thought with disgust.  
  
"Just what is going on here?" the barman demanded, the tremor in his voice belying the macho act he was trying to pull. Definitely new, and unused to breaking up bar fights. This was probably his first.  
  
My first too, she thought. Usually her procedure for coping was to duck her head and hope to go unnoticed. She didn't even know where the finger trick had come from, but she was thankful for it. So far it was keeping the guy in place.  
  
"Nothing," the guy on the floor said, glaring up at Rebecca and the other man. "I was just leaving."  
  
Rebecca released his finger and let him get up, watching him intently the whole time.  
  
True to his word though, he picked himself up, dusted himself off, and with a final look at the man behind her he walked away, pushing through the flaps and out into the warm night.  
  
"Are you ok?" she asked turning to the other man.  
  
"Fine," he muttered, rubbing a spot on his wrist.  
  
Impulsively she reached out to him, touching his wrist, telling herself she wanted to check for injury.  
  
The images came in a rush, each one slamming home like a physical blow. This man, and another, and Nick. Oh god, Nick. Standing there with a humourless smile twisting his lips as the other man fell, in agony, blood on the ground. The man she had just saved was screaming, impotent rage and grief and it cut through her skull.  
  
She fell to the floor and the man reached out to help her.  
  
"Don't touch me," she whispered brokenly. "Oh god, don't touch me." She curled up, rocking herself.  
  
"Are you alright?" the barman asked.  
  
Her face was wet with tears but she was already dragging herself together. The surge of emotion leaving as quickly as it had come.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Both men exchanged looks as she got off the floor, each clearly showing that they thought differently.  
  
"You," she said, pointing to the other man. "Come with me." 


	5. Revelation

A/N: Once again, sincerest apologies to have kept you waiting. This is about the fifth attempt of this chapter and if it weren't for a little bit of 3am assistance then I'd still hate it and I'd be no where near finished. So a huge thank you to Werekitten cause I couldn't have done it without her.

MayadaBee: as always, glad you liked and I'm sorry I make you wait so long.

Redaura: Thanks oh faithful reviewer mine (^_^) You put a little bit of spark in my day. Course it's a spark I use to torment other people with but feel proud anyway, and yes she is clairvoyant (sorta) to Nick related stuff.

K. Telfer: Thank you. I'm all flattered (^_^) Course if I didn't care so damn much you nice people would get updated sooner but its quality over quantity right *looks hopeful* I hope you continue to enjoy.

**This chapter is dedicated to Werekitten ///_^**

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Her booted feet hit St Phillip a moment after she stated her request. Well given her order if she was going to be honest, but either way the man from the bar had followed her and had fallen into step beside her. She risked a glance at him only to see that he was hunched into his coat despite the heat, his hair flopping down into his face and partly obscuring his features. So far he seemed determined to study the sidewalk and maintain a sullen silence.

            "What's your name?" She asked softly.

            "Logan. Mark Logan," he bit out.

            "Detective?"

            He glanced up at her, looking at her face with so much intensity it made her feel uncomfortable. Like he was looking right into her head and through her and was already going to decide whether she was guilty or innocent.

            "Wanna tell me how you knew that?" he asked.

            She shrugged. "I guess you just seem like the type."

            He made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh.

            "Does the name Nick Bryman mean anything to you?" she asked casually though she already new that it would. She twisted her head to look at him as they walked and gauge his reaction. He stiffened and she watched his face go hard and shut off, but he didn't stop walking.

            "Might. What's it mean to you?"

            "I'm his _very_ ex-girlfriend."

~*~

            "Let me get this straight," Nick folded his hands behind his back. "You go to give Logan the message and some chick interferes and you let it go?"

            Shaun Barton stood in front of him hopped nervously from one foot to the other. Nick was calm and he had been in his service long enough to know that wasn't a good sign. When Nick was this calm people bled, or worse.

            "You just…let it go?" Nick repeated.

            "Yes," the man answered simply, eyes downcast. This was not going to end well.

            "I see."

            Shaun's hands trembled and he clasped them together to hide it. Nick did see and that was the problem. Nick had already turned his back and was pacing to the other side of the room. When he stopped suddenly and spun on his heels, Shaun visibly flinched.

            "So Logan is still out there behind a thorn in my side? Because you let some _woman_ spook you?"

            "She was strong, boss, stronger than she –"

            "Shut up," Nick cut him off and Shaun lapsed immediately into a fearful silence. The door opened and Nick turned away for a second time. "Ah, Marco. Just the man I wanted to see."

~*~

            Rebecca leaned on the wall in the narrow hallway outside Logan's apartment watching him struggle with the lock while he muttered something about it being stiff and temperamental.

            "So what is it you want Miss…"

            "Rebecca. Just call me Rebecca, Detective."

            "Right. So what's this all about Rebecca?"

            "I think you might be able to help me Detective," she answered honestly. The lock gave with a click that sounded too loud and she flinched. Unfortunately Logan caught it.

            "Is there something your afraid of? Has he threatened you?"

            Rebecca laughed but it was a hollow sound that made even her shudder. "No. Can we just go inside please?"

            Logan looked at the door, aware the he was holding it half open and blocking the entire entrance. He looked back at her, took a step back and gestured for her to walk in first. With a slight shrug she did.

            Heading straight for a beat up looking blue sofa she sank down on it, stretching her legs out in front of her and looking around. The apartment was in a state of chaos. Not mess exactly because as far as she could tell everything had a purpose or was in use in some way. There were a lot of books and folders and maps and notebooks scattered all over the place but there was a distinct lack of discarded clothing or numerous used cups and plates that her initial impression had told her to expect. There was one used cup though so she had to assume either he was good with washing up or he just used the same cup all the time.

            "Alright," Logan said, sitting down on an armchair that stood on the other side of a coffee table. Rebecca assumed it was a coffee table but it was so hidden by what looked like case notes that she couldn't be sure. "I'm just gonna jump the gun here and assume you came to find me because you wanted to talk to me about Nick."

            "Something like that," she answered him.

            "You want a coffee?"

            "Is that the cop or hospitality talking?"

            He grinned at her, shoving some of his hair away from his face. "These days I'm not so sure. Do you?"

            "No. Thanks."

            "Fair enough." He leaned forward, grabbing the corner of a notebook and tugging it towards him. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

            "How long have you been investigating Nick?"

            "A while. Why?"

            Rebecca shifted on the sofa. "I bet in all that time you've never found anything concrete have you? Anything you could actually take him to court with?"

            "That would be the understatement of the century. I've witnessed some stuff myself, but even that's not enough."

            "Right, but you would know where he's operated from recently? Things like that?"

            "Y-es," Logan drew the word out, his eyes narrowing at her again.

            "Good, Detective. I'm going to need to know everything you know."

~*~

            "Boss," Marco nodded his head. On the other side of the room, Shaun flinched.

            Nick grinned. "I have a job for you, and I know how much you enjoy your work." He didn't turn, didn't acknowledge Shaun in anyway but it would have been difficult for anyone to mistake his meaning. Marco smiled faintly and nodded.

            "Happy to do it, boss, but we have a…situation."

            Nick raised his eyebrows. "What now?" He sighed.

            "You know that chick we wasted a few months back?"

            "Which one?"

            "The one that…that you were…"

            Nick waved a hand, cutting Marco off but he could feel the humour draining away from his face and his mouth tightening in to a line. "Rebecca," he said quietly. "Here name was Rebecca."

            "Yeah," Marco swallowed. "She's not…well this is gonna sound nuts."

            "Just spit it out Marco."

            "She…her grave is empty."


End file.
